If Things Were Different
by Rogue Vader
Summary: JATE. The one shot is now a two shot. Kate did what she thought was right and walked away from Jack after they were rescued, now she's thinking twice. This fic is now officially complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lost – if I did Libby and Shannon would still be alive and a character who shall not be named would be dead. Or at least permanently missing.

**Pre-Read Notes: **This is a story about Jack's life post-island. I for one don't see a scenario like this ever actually playing out – but sometimes you just gotta switch things up for a story. And since fluff and humor are beyond my meager abilities, it's angst or nothing. And I apologize right away if my tenses shift. I'm writing the flashbacks in past tense and the current storyline in present tense and for whatever reason that messes with my mind.

I listened to two songs while I wrote this. "It's Getting Better all the Time" by Brooks and Dunn and "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley with Allison Krause.

**If Things Were Different**

He lifts the drink to his mouth and he can't quite remember if it's his first or his seventh. If he switched from Bloody Marys to gimlets in the afternoon, or if he's been drinking whiskey since morning. All he knows is that the glass is never empty and his stomach is never full.

And he doesn't know how long he's been here, perched on this lopsided barstool staring out a murky window into a darkened street. And he doesn't care that with each sip he stumbles closer to the edge, to the downward spiral that consumed both his father and grandfather before him. So he takes another drink, savors the burn as it glides down his throat, and orders another round.

He's been back a year. One full year since the rescue boat's light appeared through the curtain of darkness that shielded the island from the rest of the world. A year since he said his goodbyes to Rose and Bernard, who'd chosen to live out the remainder of their lives on the island. To Locke, who'd disappeared into the jungle as soon as the ship's metal hulk had blinked on the horizon.

And to Kate, who'd left him standing alone on a ship's deck.

"_I can't let them find me, Jack. I'm sorry." Her voice was a whisper, the movements of her lips stiff as if she couldn't quite bring herself to say the words aloud._

_The words deflated him, and Jack could only stare at where she stood beside him at the ship's railing. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, the lines of her body tense. She looked frozen, an inanimate copy of herself. He willed her to look at him, to reassure him that her words didn't mean what he thought they did. But, as the silence between them lengthened, a hard knot formed in his chest._

"_Kate..."_

"_No." She shook her head, refusing to let him try and convince her. "They'll be looking for me the minute we dock, Jack. I don't have a choice." _

"_I don't believe that." The doctor in him, the man who saved lives and fixed people, refused to give in._

"_If there were any way, Jack..." Her voice pleaded, begged him not to press her. She dropped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes. A lock of hair worked it's way loose from her pony-tail and fell across her cheek. "I'm running as soon as we hit dry land. I'll be gone before the last person gets off this ship."_

_Her voice sounded resigned, final. She'd made her decision. Until that moment he'd managed to convince himself there was a way for them. That the fate that had brought them together on the island – and he admitted to himself now that it was fate - would keep them together when they were finally rescued. But her words were like a bucket of cold water on his back. His body stiffened and his hands gripped the railing in a spasm of panic. Briefly he wondered if he could ask the captain to turn around, to drop them back on the island and forget he'd ever found them. But Jack dismissed the desperate foolishness almost as soon as it crossed his mind._

_Instead he took a step toward Kate, lifted one hand to grip her shoulder. He could feel the heat of her beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. She tried to shirk away at his touch, to distance herself, but he held firm. "Kate, there must be something we can do. Some way to fight this."_

_Then, for the first time since they'd loaded the ship, she met his eyes with her own. Her gaze was direct and unflinching, but a dullness lurked just past the surface and he knew she'd accepted what he could not._

"_I'm sorry, Jack. After what I did...there can't be any happy endings for me."_

The door swings open on squeaky hinges and a rush of cool air blows in. Jack, dressed in only a t-shirt and jeans, turns his back to the door and scrunches forward, tries to keep his meager warmth to himself.

"I thought I'd find you here." The voice penetrates the alcohol-induced haze that clouds his mind. Murky and distant, he recognizes the slow southern drawl that lingers indolently over each word.

Jack glances hurriedly over his shoulder, unsure if the what he sees is real or an apparition. In faded jeans and a worn jacket, Sawyer strides toward him, his mouth tugged in a lopsided smile. His hair is shorter and his face bare of the perpetual stubble from their island days. He walks with a limp, favoring his right leg, and Jack wonders what trouble he's been causing.

"Sawyer." Jack starts to stand but Sawyer waves him back.

"Don't stand on my account." He smiles and plunks down on the stool next to Jack's. "I wouldn't want you fallin' over and causing a scene."

"I can stand just fine." To prove it, Jack lurches to his feet and motions for the bartender to bring Sawyer a glass. "What do you want?"

"A little of what you're having will do just fine."

"Two whiskeys, please." The bartender nods and sets them up quickly, the bottle of whiskey never far from Jack's seat.

Sawyer downs his drink without hesitation. He slaps the empty glass on the table and releases a satisfied sigh before he turns back to Jack, as though just remembering he's there. "Now how come you don't seem surprised to see me?"

Jack shrugs slowly, too much alcohol and too little food taking its toll. "Maybe because not much surprises me these days." He smirks, an expression he's still not used to, and takes a sip from his glass.

"Ah." Sawyer nods thoughtfully. "A side-effect of living on a tropical island inhabited by polar bears, no doubt."

Surprised into laughter, Jack inhales his whiskey. He coughs violently and doubles over bar. Each hacking cough brings a wave of pain and he struggles to catch his breath. Sawyer leans toward him and slaps his back, hard thumps that vibrate through Jack's skull. The ex-con chuckles the whole time.

"It's alright," For a moment Jack thinks Sawyer is trying to comfort him. Then Jack realizes he's only smoothing things over with the bartender. Reassuring the man that Jack's not too drunk to be here. "I just told a joke at the wrong moment's all. He'll settle down in a minute."

Sawyer's hand grips Jack by the back of the neck. "Won't you, Saint Jack?"

_Jack grabbed Kate's other shoulder and turned her whole body to face him. She resisted but he refused to let her back away. When they were face to face, mere inches apart, he was reminded of their first – their only - kiss. They'd stood just like this, him gripping her shoulders, her wide eyes staring into his. Only this time he was the one who needed comfort, the one who was drowning. And some sneering voice that lurked in the back of his mind told him there'd never be a way for either of them to fix this._

"_What did you do? Tell me, Kate."_

_Her eyes flared at his request and he thought she might bolt. He tightened his grip and waited while she shook her head and grasped at his arms. Her fingers dug into the soft skin beneath his forearms, pleading without words for him to let her go. "I can't," she whispered. "I don't want you to know."_

_Jack shook his head. "I need to understand this, Kate. And I want to hear it from you." He didn't demand, but kept his voice gentle, almost coaxing._

_Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and Jack could only watch while she tried desperately to blink them away. No match for the struggle, she bowed her head until the smooth skin of her forehead touched his chest. The warm, solid weight of her slender body leaned against him and Jack felt the first flood of her tears seep through his shirt. _

_Carefully he ran his hands down her arms, ready to wrap her shaking form closer to him. But Kate chose that moment to push away. She stepped back unsteadily, and the tips of her fingers hovered a hairs-breadth away from his chest as though to ward him off._

_Her nose was pink and the twin streaks of her tears ran down her cheeks to her quivering chin. Her eyes were fixed on the top button of his shirt, and he could tell from the way her jaw worked that she was clenching her teeth. Visibly, she gathered herself. One deep, shuddering breath later she raised her eyes to his. The shimmer of unshed tears lingered in her eyes, but the aching vulnerability was gone. In its place was a detached resignation._

"_I'm a murderer Jack. I killed my father."_

"So, how are you Sawyer?"

Sawyer shrugs and plays with the label on the beer he's just ordered. "I'm doing alright for myself. You know, payin' the bills, stayin' out of jail. Life doesn't get much better than that."

Jack chuckles, not sure he believes. "Still up to your old tricks?" He doesn't condemn Sawyer, not anymore. He's fallen too hard from his own pedestal to judge another man's life.

"Who me?" Sawyer's voice gets high and he gives that innocent smile of his, the one that really isn't innocent at all. "I turned over a new leaf when we got home, Doc. An experience like the one we went through will change a man."

He holds Jack's eyes for a moment too long and Jack knows Sawyer's not just talking about himself. He wants to bristle, to get angry and indignant, but he doesn't have the will. Sawyer's right, their experience on the island did change him. It exposed a weakness he thought he'd avoided inheriting. But time proved it had only been lying dormant, waiting for the right moment, the right excuse, to take hold of his life and squeeze.

"So, you managed to get back on a plane yet?" Sawyer asks, his casual attempt to change the subject.

"No. I've tried, but I can't bring myself to do it." His laugh his self-conscious. "I even bought a ticket once. I was going to visit an uncle in Peoria." He shrugs and spins his glass absently. "I never made it to the airport."

Sawyer throws back his head and laughs appreciatively.

"What about you?" Jack asks, his voice challenging.

"Well, of course I've flown. I've never been a man to be ruled by irrational fear." Sawyer lifts his beer in a mock toast. "Flying is still the safest way to travel. And it sure beats the hell out of a thirty hour drive." He leans forward and gives Jack a conspiratorial smile. "Besides, I figure we've survived the odds. Even I haven't done anything to deserve death taking two swings at me."

Jack chuckles without humor. "You sure about that?"

"I'd bet the farm on it."

Their conversation lapses into silence and Jack has the uncomfortable feeling Sawyer is assessing him, measuring him. He motions for another drink, ready for a change he makes it a gimlet. The vodka is on the other side of the bar and Jack taps his fingers impatiently on the scarred surface of the bar, his chin resting in the other hand.

"You know, I met your father in a bar once. You remember that?" Sawyer's voice is soft, deceptively nonchalant.

"Yep." Jack keeps his answer is short and his eyes on the bartender. His father is not something he wants to talk about. Especially not with Sawyer.

"Yeah, me too." But Sawyer presses on. "I remember thinking that I'd never met a man so intent on drinking himself to death."

Jack jerks involuntarily and knocks over his empty glass. He moves to right it but Sawyer beats him to it. In one smooth movement he's set the glass down and grabbed a fistful of Jack's worn t-shirt. Surprised, Jack tries to lean away and break the other man's grip, but Sawyer gives one hard jerk and nearly pulls Jack off the barstool.

The switch is too quick for Jack's befuddled mind and he has to blink to clear his thoughts. When his vision comes back into focus he is staring at blue eyes alive with fury and lips curled in a sneer. "What the hell are you doing, Jack?"

The change is so abrupt, Jack has trouble following. He closes his eyes, tries to clear his mind. "Let me..."

Sawyer shakes Jack hard. "I ain't lettin' you do nuthin'. You look like shit and you smell worse."

Still reeling, Jack grabs Sawyer's wrist tries to twist free. Without a hitch, Sawyer reaches behind Jack's arm with his other hand and pinches Jack's triceps. Jack jerks backward, his hands drop from Sawyer's wrists and he nearly falls off his stool. Only Sawyer's choke-hold on the collar of his shirt keeps him upright.

"Damn it, Sawyer. That hurt."

"Good." Sawyer settles Jack back on his stool and leans in until Jack can smell the beer on his breath. "Now you listen to me you little shit, I don't know what the hell it is you think you've got goin' on here, but it has to stop."

Anger burns to life and Jack matches Sawyer's sneer with one of his own.

"Leave it alone, Sawyer. I sure as hell don't need advice from someone like you." Jack pushes against Sawyer's shoulder but the other man doesn't move. Too drunk to do much else, Jack goes limp, the fight gone out of him. Sawyer looks him over from head to toe, then snorts in disgust and lets him go with a shove. Jack teeters backward but manages to steady himself against the bar.

"We're getting out of here." Sawyer grabs Jack's wallet, which sits open on the bar. Casually the he flips through it before he extracts a handful of bills. He slaps them on the bar and grabs Jack by the shirt again. "I sure hope that's enough."

_He'd expected something like this, but the wave of shock that crashed into him left him shaking, speechless. Seeing his reaction, Kate's lips twisted into a humorless smile._

"_So what do you think about that, Jack?"_

_Her voice dripped with bitterness and her eyes had dropped to the ship's deck. She stood a mixture of defiance and uncertainty, as though she expected him to condemn her but hoped against hope that he wouldn't. Knowing her as he believed he did, as he _knew _he did, he couldn't turn his back on her._

"_Why?"_

_"Because I wanted to." Kate's words came out with a snarl, her defenses springing to life instantly._

"_I know you had a reason, Kate." He took a careful step toward her. When she didn't back away, he took another._

_She swallowed audibly. "Because he was a drunk. Because he was a drunk and he beat my mother and he..." Her throat seemed to close, her words strangled. She opened her mouth again, to speak, to tell him, but her voice had dried up._

"_Oh, Kate." He didn't know what to say or where to start. He wanted to say so much, but they didn't have enough time for him to say everything. She'd told him the truth, and he was grateful. It didn't change how he felt, it didn't change his belief in her innate goodness. But he didn't know how to express it without making it sound like he was forgiving her for something that had nothing to do with him._

_So instead of words he took another step toward her. Their bodies were mere inches apart and with each crest of a wave their bodies swayed toward one another._

"_I wish it wasn't like this," she whispered, her voice so quiet that Jack had to strain to hear her over the lapping ocean. Jack wished it, too. "My whole life I've done nothing but wish things were different. But it's too late now."_

Mist hangs in the air, coats Jack's bare skin with moisture. He supposes it should feel good, a change from the oppressive heat and smoke that had clogged his throat in the confines of a small-town bar. But he wants the bar back, with its smoke and anonymous faces and its forgetfulness. Anything to replace what he sees in Sawyer's eyes.

"What the hell are you doing to yourself, man?"

Jack shakes his head. Sawyer's presses into his chest, pushes him flat against the brick building. He wants to collapse, to crumple and curl into a ball and lay there until he dies.

"Do you know what she'd think if she could see you now?"

At the mention of Kate, Jack's head rolls forward and hangs over his chest. A calloused hand grips his chin and pushes his face upright. Like a rag doll, he doesn't resist.

"Yeah, you know," Sawyer sneers. "She'd be sick with disgust. She probably wouldn't even recognize you. Hell, she'd probably wonder why she ever fell in love with you in the first place." Sawyer bares his teeth at Jack, the expression almost predatory. But, slowly, a look of contemplation comes over his face, like a light dawning.

"No, that's not quite right," he whispers. "It wouldn't be quite like that, would it, Jacko?"

"Sawyer..."

"I'm not finished. There was a time when I thought I was the one who was supposed to disappoint her, to hurt her. But it seems as our roles have been reversed. If she could see you now it would break her heart right to pieces. And this time her pain would be all on you, Jack. Just you."

Jack has no words. No words to defend himself, to justify what he's become. The truth in Sawyer's words is deafening. But it's the same truth he confronts on his own ever morning he wakes up with an empty bottle in his hand. The same truth he sees every night he falls asleep with her mugshot – the only picture he has of her - between his fingers.

Sawyer's eyes skewer him with their disgust, their pity, and even their pain. And for the first time Jack allows himself, forces himself, to imagine what Kate might see if she were above him right now. A needle and thread will not patch him up this time. He's not even sure there's enough pieces of him left to be put back together.

Abruptly Sawyer's hand leaves his chest. Jack sinks to his knees, hits the pavement with a crack. He curls forward, into himself, and falls to the ground. Moisture seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, drenches his skin, but he doesn't notice the cold, not even when he begins to shake.

"Jesus, Jack." Sawyer's voice is a murmur through fog.

Jack closes his eyes and presses his face into the pavement.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispers.

"_Will I ever see you again?"_

"_I...I honestly don't know." It hurt to hear the words but she was being honest. At least she could give him that._

_Those green eyes searched his, combed across his features, and Jack knew she was memorizing his face, trying to commit him to memory._

_He almost kissed her then. Lord knew he wanted to. He wanted to close his eyes and lean forward and press his lips against hers and keep them there until the day he died. But he had the very real fear that, if he did, he would not be able to stop himself from doing something stupid. Something that would put her and her flight in jeopardy. And he'd never be able to forgive himself._

_So he stood still and let her eyes roam his face while his tried not to close beneath the combined weight of grief and regret._

_Somewhere up ahead Jack heard someone call out that land was in sight. A spontaneous cheer rose up from the huddling group of castaways, their joy and relief palpable. But Jack's stomach dropped._

_The change in Kate was automatic. Her body was primed for flight and Jack knew she was itching to hit dry land, to take off and disappear as only she knew how. The knowledge that this could be the last time he'd ever see her clawed at his gut. A mounting feeling of helplessness held him immobile while his mind roiled in fruitless anger._

"_I'm sorry, Jack." Her hands cupped his face, caressed the stubbled planes of his cheeks. That simple touch broke him. Tears burned at the backs of his eyes._

"_I..." Jack struggled for words, unable to find them in the aching depths of his hurt. He wasn't used to this, wasn't used to pain he couldn't control. He looked wildly around the ship, at anything but her. Even now the words would not come._

"_It's better this way." She tried to reassure him, tried to soothe some of the wounds eating away at him._

"_No, it's not." He shook his head, the tears of grief replaced with ones of anger. "I love you, Kate." He hadn't wanted to say it that way, full of anger and swimming in regret. He'd wanted them together for good, alone with each other and happy. Without secrets or uncertainty between them._

_The hands on his cheeks trembled and slid from his face. Kate took a step back, as though she needed the distance to say what she had to stay. But her eyes stayed on Jack's and he imagined she was willing him to believe her, to acknowledge the truth she spoke but could not show._

_"If things were different Jack... If things were different I'd walk off this ship with you and never look back. But we both know I can't." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm so sorry, Jack."_

_Then she turned on one foot and walked away, leaving Jack with one hand pressed against his forehead, the other clutching the railing._

**Post-Read Notes:** I have a tendency to be a little abrupt with my endings, but I hope this one works because I wanted to leave Jack adrift, or in a sort of limbo. For right now I'm leaving this as a one shot,so the reader can decide Jack's future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **Well, I said this story was going to be a one-shot but I lied. I suppose if you can't lie to yourself, who can you lie to? Feel free to disregard this chapter if your tastes run toward a more angsty bent and you preferred leaving Jack drunk on a rain soaked sidewalk lamenting his existence. This chapter takes place roughly three weeks after the first chapter.

Also, if this feels a bit rushed or has a lot of typos, I apologize, but I really wanted to get this posted before tomorrow because (yikes!) I have _no idea _how I'm going to be feeling after tomorrow's episode. I'm almost too nervous to watch and I may not have the strength to write scenes with Sawyer and not have rocks falling from the sky to bash him in the face. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy Sawyer (most of the time) but if I have to pick between him and Jate, well, there's no contest. And I may go overboard with the...um, melodrama on this but sometimes things just gotta happen.

I wrote this listening to "Forgive Me" by Evanescence. I'd just watched a fanvid with this song and I LOVED it and was instantly motivated to write this.

**If Things Were Different - Chapter 2**

Kate paces the length of her motel room, her hands clasping and unclasping spasmodically, distractedly at her waist. She's just showered and her hair is still damp, falling over her shoulders in dark, tangled waves. It was the first real shower she's had in days and it felt better than anything has in a long time. She lingered beneath the weak spray, unwilling to deny herself the pleasure of such a luxury, until the hot water was gone and she was driven out by the frigid chill streaking down her skin.

Her clothes are a luxury, too. They're clean, almost new, paid for by the odd jobs she's taken to scrape by since her return from the island. If she were smarter, more practical, she wouldn't waste money on something so frivolous. Clothes can last decades if you treat them right. But she doesn't care about being practical and hang being savvy. She knows, somewhere beneath the layers of denial and self-deception, that she bought the fitted top and these jeans that cling in just the right places, with this day in mind. That if she doesn't look her best, if she's faded and worn, if she looks how she feels, he might not want her.

She knows it's ridiculous, that her fears are as unfounded as her dreams are hopeless. But still, doubt assails her and, for what seems like the hundredth time in the last half hour, she wonders if she's crazy. If after years of running and deceit, she's finally lost it. Or if she was born with the same defective gene as her mother, the one that dooms her to always make the wrong decision.

Weak with nerves, she sits on the edge of her bed and cradles her head with hands that shake. She thought she had self-control, that her resolve was strong and that she could be true to promises made with conviction. For months it seemed like she was winning the battle, the battle she thought she was fighting for him. But time, instead of blunting the edge of her pain, has sharpened it like a razor, until every touch, the slightest brush, draws blood. Each morning she wakes up alone, she realizes how weak she is and discovers anew how many ways a person can hurt. And she doesn't quite understand how it can be this way or how she let it get this way. All she knows is that it is.

A knock sounds hard against the door and her head snaps up. Two short strides is all it takes and she's across the room, staring out the peep-hole. She's not as nervous of being followed these days, but some habits don't go away. Satisfied, she steps back and opens the door.

The man who stands in her door is tall, with short blond hair and a clean-shaven face. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he leans, posed like some poor man's imitation of James Dean, against the door jam. A cigarette dangles from his lips and he looks at her from beneath lowered lashes, his head tilted just slightly to the side.

"You're late." It's not a greeting but she doesn't care. She has other things on her mind than pleasantries or Sawyer's feelings. He looks hurt, but she knows he's not. When he steps into her room he gives her a mock bow, ash drops from his cigarette to glow against the worn carpet.

"Hey there, Freckles." He speaks slowly, like he's savoring her nickname on his tongue and the smile he throws her way is more like a grin that promises long nights and sweaty sheets. "You sure know how to make a man feel welcome."

Kate shrugs and ushers him inside, impatient to shut the door behind him. He moves slowly, just to press her buttons, and glances back toward the parking lot like he's looking for someone. When he looks back at her, his expression is sly.

"Are you nervous about something, Freckles?"

She doesn't answer. Instead she grabs his forearm and pulls him into the room, not bothering to be gentle. He stumbles a bit and acts offended, but she knows he was expecting it, waiting for it. It's how he operates and she's learned to accept it.

The door shut and locked, she turns to Sawyer who's managed, a matter of seconds, to take off his shoes and lounge comfortably on her unmade bed. He's propped up against the headboard, his hands clasped behind his head, looking relaxed, like he hasn't just worked double time to give the appearance of nonchalance. One side of his mouth quirks in a smile and Kate can see the devil that lurks in his eyes. She almost smiles back but her nerves are tearing at her control and she can't quite find it in her to be pleasant.

"Have you seen him? Have you talked to him?" The questions tumble from her mouth before she can consider them, frame them to her advantage. She doesn't want to sound so hopeful, so desperate, but her words filter out uncensored and she realizes there's no point in dissemblance. They both know why he's here, why she sought him out almost a month ago.

"Yeah, I've seen him." His mouth stretches into a coy smile and he makes a show of settling more comfortably on the bed. "What's it worth to you?"

"Sawyer." She's not sure if he's playing with her or seeing how far he can push her. Thinking that, maybe, if he wrangles long enough she'll give in.

"Oh, you heard me." He sits up suddenly and his pale eyes lock with her own. "Just how badly do you want to know about the good doc?"

Impatience makes her roll her eyes. Silence stretches between them, just long enough to become uncomfortable, then she crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step forward. "Give it up, Sawyer. You're being ridiculous."

His gaze darts away, then back. "Come on. You could have us both and no one would ever know."

"I thought we'd finished with this game." Her tone is flat, her face a mask devoid of emotion.

Sawyer studies her face, his eyes unreadable and she doesn't try to guess what he's thinking. She refuses to speak first and when he finally breaks the silence it's to laugh quietly, a little exhalation of air really, and shake his head. One smooth motion and he's back against the headrest, his body stretched out and his legs crossed at the ankles.

"Does this place have a buffet?" He drops one hand to his stomach. "All this intelligence gathering has made me a little hungry."

For a second she's tempted to throw something at him. She's not choosy, anything within reach will do as long as it will make a dent in his thick hide. But the moment passes and a sudden sadness engulfs her. Here they are, both of them maybe worse off than they were on the island. Drifters never able to get ahead, rescued from one kind of harsh uncertainty only to be dropped into another.

"I doubt it." Kate hesitates, mentally counts the cash in her pants' pocket and combines it with the change she scrounged from beneath the bed last night. It's not a lot, but it will probably be enough.

"Would you like to go somewhere?"

Sawyer laughs. "Are you asking me out, Freckles?"

"I'm asking you to breakfast." She hesitates. "To repay the favor. And it won't be anything special. McDonald's will have to do."

"Wow." Sawyer shakes his head and the grin he gives her spreads from ear to ear. "You sure pull out all the stops, don't ya Freckles? Do you suppose McDonald's serves lobster this early in the morning?"

_Kate rolled over and slammed her hand against what passed for a pillow on the island. She'd been awake for what felt like hours, restlessly tossing and turning within the confines of her makeshift tent. She'd counted sheep, tried the other side of her worn mattress, and even whispered a half-forgotten lullaby into the darkness. But sleep was elusive and slipped easily from her feeble grasp to dance tauntingly just out of reach._

_For the fifth time in as many nights she grudgingly admitted defeat just before dawn, chalking up another easy victory to insomnia, her newly discovered foe. Disgusted, she kicked out of her tent and almost howled her frustrations at the pastel-streaked sky, as if it shared some responsibility for her plight. Only consideration for the forty odd people who shared her beach front home kept her silent._

_Kate spent the next hour walking the beach, hoping to shake off the restlessness that plagued her. But the semi-darkened sky only fed her nameless fears, heightened the creeping sensation that something was about to happen. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, just a vague awareness that stole over her, most often at night when the day's activities had wound down and her mind was finally quiet._

_She'd thought of confiding in Jack but, beyond worries that had no explainable cause, she had nothing to say. Certainly nothing important enough to bother him with, not when he had so many other responsibilities on the island. So she kept to herself, hoping each time she walked the beach at dawn would be the last time._

_Fatigue pulled at her eyelids, but she knew that if she went back to her tent, she'd never fall asleep. So, stubbornly, she kept walking, trying to enjoy the beauty of the nature that surrounded her. It was at times like this, when she had only the island itself for company , that she truly appreciated how alone they were here, in this place no one could find and no one could leave. She'd known her share of solitude, that feeling of being so removed from civilization that it was difficult to believe any of it still existed. But that feeling was never so complete as it was here, where the isolation was so total._

_On this beach, the life she'd lead outside the island didn't matter. Every person she cared about, everything she needed, was here. Of course she missed certain things, like scented soaps and settling on the couch to watch football on Sunday afternoons, but if she never experienced those things again it wouldn't _matter_. The things that were most important, the experiences and the people, were all here._

_So many on the island had lives they wanted to get back to, friends and family they ached to see. But not her. Before the crash, her life had become as isolated as this island. Existing only for itself, for the sake of being alive and having a place somewhere on earth. Real and alive, but always, inherently alone._

Their pancakes are eaten and their hash browns almost gone before Kate brings him up. She's not sure what she's avoiding, the truth won't change if she ignores it so better to confront it head on. Straightening her shoulders, she drops the napkin she's been tearing to shreds for the last ten minutes and gets it over with.

"How is he?"

Sawyer, his hash brown half raised to his mouth, becomes still. The hesitation, the odd trepidation in his eyes, speed Kate's already frantic heart and she wishes she could call the question back. But wishes rarely come true and she already sees the answer in his eyes. There's no turning back from that, and even if she tried she's already ruined.

"To be honest, the first time I saw him he was a mess." Sawyer pauses and dips his chin forward. He looks pained, like the words hurt him as much to say as they will for her to hear. Kate's not used to this from Sawyer, such obvious emotion, and she almost wishes for his mocking smile, his calculating gaze. Anything to dull the impact.

When he speaks again his voice is tight, wary. "He sorta fell into his the same trap as his old man."

Kate's stomach plummets to her feet and her face flushes with heat. She knows two things about his father, that he was a surgeon, and that he was an alcoholic. It doesn't take a giant leap to understand the meaning of Sawyer's words.

"No." But it's not the denial Sawyer thinks it is. It's a protest, a plea, that somehow she's heard him all wrong. For weeks she's been terrified that Jack hates her, that if she tried to contact him he'd ignore her or curse her or, worse, greet her as a friend. It never crossed her mind that he wouldn't be well, that he'd be fighting demons he might not be able to defeat.

Sawyer shrugs. "It's the truth. He was three sheets to the wind and looking for a fourth when I found him. From what I've seen, that's how he spends most of his time these days."

Wordlessly, Kate shakes her head, as if that denial will change the truth, make Sawyer admit he was only joking and isn't he funny maybe he should try stand up. Or maybe she's fighting the burgeoning horror that she is somehow responsible for Jack's plight. That if she hadn't left him, or if she'd told him how much she cared, he'd be okay. Maybe not perfect, maybe hurting, but he wouldn't be doing _this_.

"I'm sorry." Sawyer's voice is kind, unbearably so. He reaches across the small table and puts a comforting hand over one of her own. Kate wants to say something, thank him for his compassion, for his help in finding Jack but her throat is too clogged with emotion. She's afraid that if she moves, if she even blinks, she will burst into tears.

"He's going through a rough patch right now but he's trying to get better." He squeezes her hand and then pulls back, suddenly self-conscious. But his gaze is earnest and Kate wishes she could find comfort in it.

"But he's not okay," she murmurs, but her voice is so soft it never reaches his ears.

"_Kate, is that you?"_

"_Jack? What are you doing up?" Kate veered toward Jack's tent where he was kneeling just outside._

"_I could ask you the same thing." Jack smiled as she approached, then brushed his hands against his thighs and stood up. "It's a little early, even for you."_

"_And how would you know?" She couldn't resist teasing him, even if it was only a little. He smiled so little, had so much pressure pushing down on his shoulders that he rarely just relaxed. She found herself wondering sometimes if he'd smiled more before the island, if he'd laughed and joked everyday ease. Somehow she didn't think so._

"_Because I get up early and I don't usually see you until just before noon."_

"_That's because I'm already in the jungle picking fruit."_

_Jack chuckled and shook his head. Kate was flattered that he could be this way with her, act like he was just a normal guy in a normal place. But she wasn't sure she wasn't playing a dangerous game with herself. It made her think things that she probably had no right to think, entertain hopes that she'd buried years ago, long before she should have. But knowing she shouldn't do something had never stopped her before and she knew it couldn't stop her now._

_Her sudden change of mood must have registered with Jack because his smile vanished and his gaze became probing. And though he was being serious, he looked adorable with his eyes squinting against the sun and the ridge of his nose burnt pink._

"_Kate, are you sure you're alright?"_

_And because he was honestly concerned and because it felt good to confide in him, she answered truthfully. "I couldn't sleep."_

_He shifted closer, and suddenly he was the doctor on the island. She wanted to tell him she was fine, that he didn't need to look so worried, but – unwillingly – she admitted to herself that she liked the attention. She loved it when Jack was focused on her, only her. It made her feel giddy and special and all the feelings that she'd sought and spurned her entire life._

"_Just last night or…"_

"_Jack, I've just felt a little stressed, that's all." She put a hand on his arm and squeezed just because she wanted the contact, the heat of his skin beneath her hand._

_He hesitated a heartbeat. "Do you want to talk about it?"_

_Kate shook her head._

"_You know, you could have woke me up." He gestured over his shoulder to his tent. "If it happens again…"_

"_Jack, I'm not going to bother you just because I can't sleep. You, of all people, need your rest. No one likes a grumpy, sleep-deprived doctor."_

_He laughed a little at that. "Kate, I really don't sleep that much. Besides, I think most people would say I'm always grumpy."_

_Kate smiled but shook her head. "I think you're just stressed."_

"_Then that makes two of us."_

"_I guess so."_

_Voices became audible up and down the beach, distracting Kate as she realized the sun was fully up and people were emerging from their tents to greet the day. When she looked back at Jack he was staring at her oddly._

"_Kate, you can talk to me, you know that don't you? I don't just sew cuts, I can listen, too."_

_He looked so earnest, so full of doubt, that it broke her heart a little bit. If there was one thing she'd learned over the past three months it was that Jack would always be there for her. He was a rock, her rock, and nothing had ever made her feel so safe or so free._

"_I know, Jack." And she really did. _

She's either finally doing what's right or ruining everything, but she doesn't know which. No matter how she tries to dress it up, she's still a fugitive on the run. There is no settling down for her, no staying in one place and pretending to live like a family. When she left Jack on that ship she promised herself she'd never see him again, that she'd let his love for her fade so he could move on and live a real life with a woman who could be all the things he needed. Because he deserved better than she could honestly give, more than her.

But here she is, standing at his front door, intent on shattering her promise. Because he's in pain, because she's in pain, and because she thinks he might need her. She knows she needs him. And if there's anything she can do to help him, any way to be his strength, she will do it. There is no question of that, there has never been.

And as hard as she tries, she can't deny herself either. She doesn't want to open old wounds, doesn't want to start something they may not be able to finish, but the guilt and regret are nothing in the face of her need. The physical ache she feels at the mere thought of seeing him again, touching him again, is overpowering. She's struggled against it for more than a year and has been overtaken in the process. She won't deny it any longer.

It takes a year and a day for him to answer the door. She stands with her hands shoved into her pockets, her shoulders hunched against the chill wind that buffets her back. Uncertainty assails her in the unending moments, fear that he'll see her and slam the door in the face or stare at her with nothing but coldness in his eyes. Somehow, she doesn't think she could blame him for either.

The nightmare scenario is rolling through her head when the outside lamp turns on. She starts, her heart jumping into her throat, and she takes an involuntary step backward. Then the door swings open and suddenly, after a year of separation, he's standing before her, no longer a dream but real and solid and within arm's reach.

His face is pale and thin, his cheeks more pronounced than she's ever seen them but he's still the most beautiful man she's ever seen. Tears fill her eyes and she doesn't want to cry, doesn't want him to know how much it hurts her to see him, how much it heals her to see him, but she cries anyway.

His eyes, blessedly clear, widen with recognition at the same moment she steps forward, no longer able to stand even that distance between them. She whispers his name and cups his cheeks with hands she can't stop from trembling. The skin of his face his smooth beneath the pads of her fingers and there are no words to describe how it feels just to touch him again, to know that he's right here, and she thinks she could stand just like this for the rest of her life.

"Kate." His voice is hoarse and he looks at her like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. His eyes roam her face and, though she might be imagining it, he looks like he's never seen anything more wonderful in his life. Slowly, he lifts his hands to gently pull at her waist, tugging her to him. "How did you get here? What are you doing here?"

Kate tries to smile through her tears but she's not sure she succeeds. "I came to see you," she whispers. "I couldn't..."

She can't finish, her emotions too wild and uncontrolled to be captured with speech. Her hands drop from his face to curl around his neck and Jack pulls her even closer, lets her bury her face in his shoulder. With her body pressed so tightly against his she can feel the thinness of his frame and a fresh jolt of pain mingles with her joy. But she forces the worry away, there will be time enough for that later. Now she only wants to enjoy him, the knowledge that she is here, with him, in real life. Holding him so tightly that she's sure he can't breath, being held so tightly she knows she'll never be able to leave.

Kate still doesn't know if there is a happy ending for her, but she does know there is no other ending than this.

**End Note:** I believe in Jate!


End file.
